


Piano Memories

by FollowTheFirefly



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Jake's childhood, Other, headcanon fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 05:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5994045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FollowTheFirefly/pseuds/FollowTheFirefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which seeing the piano in China brought back Jake's memories of playing for his mother before her death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piano Memories

**Author's Note:**

> So while I was playing through RE6 for the first time, I was a bit surprised to find Jake playing the piano and as I kept playing, I got the idea that his mother taught him how to play. My headcanon is that he played for her while she was in the hospital and after her death, he wanted nothing more to do with pianos. This is how I think things played out.

Jake never liked walking through the doors of the hospital, but he knew just how much it meant to her to see him. The fact that the boy had already memorized all of the names of the nurses on the floor was an impressive feat in and of itself, but it was even more astonishing was the fact that he could remember when their shifts began and ended and that he knew where all of the break rooms in the hospital were located. He liked to know where the doctors were in case something happened and he needed help.

He had long since memorized the fastest route to her room: ignore the elevators (Jake had long since given up waiting on the geriatrics who took too long getting off onto the floors) and go up the staircase behind the nurses’ station on the first floor, go up five flights of stairs, and her room was the third room on the right, directly across from a soda machine, though it was hardly ever working.

Jake’s feet moved as if they had a mind of their own, as he was presently thinking about more important things like not dropping the large pile of books he was carrying. Soon enough, he found himself at the fifth floor landing and used his elbow to open the door, taking care not to let the books topple onto the floor.

She had always been fond of reading, and would read him a different story every night before he went to bed. That had been before she got sick, when she noticed that she was feeling things she shouldn’t, when he could tell that she was not the energetic and youthful woman from his childhood.

But he was still a child, technically, though recent years had forced Jake to grow up much faster than he wanted. He had never expected that she would get sick like this. It was all wrong. She was meant to take care of him, not the other way around. It was unfair for a mere child of twelve to have to take care of his mother like this, and both of them knew it.

Shaking these thoughts from his head, Jake went not to his mother’s room, but to the nurses’ station by the candy machines and water fountains. He knew Petra was on duty that afternoon and she was never afraid of telling the truth of how his mother was doing just because of his age, unlike many of the doctors and nurses in the hospital. 

He found her quickly enough: she was sitting at the desk, eyes glancing downward as she typed up a report on the computer in front of her, her hands occasionally brushing strands of greying brown hair from her eyes. She seemed tired today and Jake had to wonder if her father had called her last night, keeping her awake with questions about the moon and various plagues and insects and anything he thought of because he had nothing better to do with his time than to call his daughter and pester her with questions.

“Must be nice,” Jake thought to himself, knowing that he would likely never receive such a call from his father, whoever he was.

He must have made some sort of noise because Petra looked up from her work, smiling at Jake when she saw him standing in front of her.

“Hi, Jake,” she said to him as she stood up from her desk. “All done with school for the day?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake thought Petra wouldn’t care if he wasn’t so formal with her, but he didn’t want to risk being scolded by his mother for not being polite to the nurses. “Is she awake?” 

“She just finished the book you brought for her last week,” Petra nodded and added, “I’m assuming that’s why you brought all of those with you today?”

“I thought she might like some new ones,” Jake bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. “Is the piano room open today?”

“Mr. Evans just left with his wife, so you should be okay,” Petra nodded. “Give me a second and I’ll bring the wheelchair for her, okay?”

Jake nodded in response, gently placing the books on the floor and sitting down on a nearby bench as Petra went off. A quick glance around told Jake that Dr. Davis was there today, as evident by the doctor’s favourite coffee mug sitting on the ledge by the computer station. In addition to Petra, Jake knew that Elizabeth was on duty today and he could hear her talking with Dr. Davis in hushed tones as they both walked down the hallway.

“She says that he’s going to stop by this afternoon. Just like he does every day.”

“But how does he get here? His father doesn’t bring him, does he?”

“He doesn’t have a father, as far as he knows. Why else would he not come to visit when the child’s mother is as ill as she is?”

Jake felt a twinge of anger at these words, wondering if they were really even trying not to gossip about their patients’ lives. 

“She never talks about him, either. All she says is that she’s the only one Jake has left. Imagine what that must be like for the boy.”

“I can’t begin to think of how it must be growing up without a father. Really, what were his parents even thinking, having a child and splitting up like that?”

Jake looked up just as Dr. Davis and Elizabeth turned the corner, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. Elizabeth and Dr. Davis both looked startled, clearly not expecting Jake to be sitting on a bench, though Jake knew that they thought he’d be in his mother’s room and not out in the hallway.

Dr. Davis straightened his white coat in an attempt to show that he wasn’t flustered at having been caught gossiping with one of the nurses and knelt down to talk to Jake, something that the latter despised.

“Coming to see your Mom today?” he asked without trying to mask his condescension. 

“Yes,” of all the doctors at the hospital, Jake liked Dr. Davis the least and he knew that the doctor knew this. “Don’t I always?”

“You’re such a good son to see her every day,” Dr. Davis said, standing up and continuing down the hallway with Elizabeth.

Rolling his eyes in disgust, Jake leaned back against the wall until Petra arrived a few moments later, pushing his mother in a wheelchair. She looked better today in comparison to recent days, but Jake knew that it wasn’t likely to last long. Still, he enjoyed seeing the life return to her eyes, even if it was only to last for the day. She still had her oxygen tank behind her, something that Jake didn’t think she’d ever be able to live without at this point in her life, and she tugged at the tube around her head in annoyance.

In all his life, Jake wondered which of his parents he looked more like. His mother had the same hair colour, but her eyes were green instead of blue. Her face was much smaller than his was and he was quite a bit taller than her, leading Jake to the conclusion that he shared more physical traits with his father, whoever he was. Despite this, there was no doubt that Jake was Anya’s son, which meant that the new doctors and nurses didn’t have a hard time finding out who he was visiting in the hospital when he showed up.

“I knew that you’d be by sometime,” Anya said with a smile. “Did you do well in school today, Jake?”

“Yep,” Jake nodded, “We got to play dodge ball during recess.”

“Oh, I’ve heard stories about that,” Petra said, helping Jake pick the books up from the floor. “Anya tells me that you’re quite good at sports, Jake.”

“I like running a lot,” Jake said before turning to his mother and saying, “Oh, I brought you some more books today, Mom.”

“Well, that’s a good thing because I just finished the one you brought me on Sunday,” Anya said. “Here, I’ll carry some of those for you.”

“I think I might have to go get you some more,” Jake said, handing Anya a few of the books as they set off down the hallway to the piano room. 

“That’s the best part about libraries,” Anya said, holding the books in her lap. “You can get as many books as you want and they’re free.”

“Jake, did you bring your piano book today?” Petra asked, turning to face Jake.

“I forgot the one I’ve been working on at home, but yep,” Jake responded, holding up the songbook for Petra to see.

“I’d certainly like to hear what you’ve been working on,” Petra said as they stopped by a closed door. She dug through her pockets and pulled out a security card, sliding it through the nearby key slot. After a soft mechanical beep, the door unlocked and slid open. “You know, I always wonder why they keep the piano room locked anyway.”

“Maybe so people don’t try to steal the piano?” Jake suggested as they entered the darkened room. “But who would try to steal a piano?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised what people try to do around here,” Petra said with the air of someone who had been working there just a bit too long. “You want to take her from here, Jake?”

“I can handle it,” Jake answered as Petra stepped back and allowed the boy to take the handles of the wheelchair. “I’ve got some Beethoven today, I think, if you want me to start with that, Mom.”

“Whatever you want to play,” Anya said, her eyes narrowing slightly as Petra turned the lights on. “Ah, that’s much better. Thank you, Petra.”

“Not a problem, Anya,” Petra replied. “I need to go check up on a few things, so will you two be okay by yourself?”

“Don’t worry about us,” Jake nodded, taking a seat in front of the piano and lifting the lid, exposing the ivory keys. “We’ll be okay.”

“You know where the call button here is if you need me,” Petra said before turning and walking out of the room, leaving only Jake and Anya.

“Have you been practicing?” Anya asked as her son pulled out the sheet music.

“Well…” clearly Jake had not been practicing, but he didn’t want to tell her that.

“Jake, you won’t get any better if you don’t practice,” Anya was fidgeting with the oxygen tube again. “That’s true with most things in life.”

“I know, I know,” Jake said, flipping through the pages of the book of sheet music. “It’s just really hard.”  
“No one sounds like Chopin or Debussy right off the bat, you know,” Anya said, her fingers sliding against the metal handle of the wheelchair. “I just wish that I could play like I used to when you were little.”

“I know,” Jake said again, understanding that this was the last thing his mother had wanted for him. 

“But at least I have my son to play some lovely music while I sit in here,” Anya said, which Jake took to mean that she wanted him to start playing. 

Taking a deep breath, Jake turned towards the book in front of him, the pages splattered with those odd shapes that somehow conveyed notes for sound. He glared at them, knowing how much he hated trying to figure out if that note was a G or an E or how long a whole note was meant to last. 

He heard Anya laughing quietly to herself in the background. Apparently his expression had been comical, something that he hadn’t intended. Realizing that he might as well get it over with, Jake’s fingers found the ivory keys and he started playing.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like playing. He really enjoyed it, despite all of his complaining about it. It just took a lot of patience and persistence, qualities that Jake struggled with. He longed for the ability to read the music on the page and to play perfectly the first time, like his mother always seemed to do. Of course, he knew that Anya had had years of practice before he was even born, but it didn’t stop Jake from wishing that he was musically gifted like she was.

To be completely honest, she was the reason why he still kept playing. When Anya had taken ill, Jake had all but stopped practicing, focusing his time on taking care of his mother. It was only at her instance that he continued playing and when he learned that there was a piano in her wing of the hospital, he began to bring over his practice books to play for her. Anya always seemed so content while she listened to him play, as if the sounds of the piano made her forget about life for a few moments. 

Snapping out of his sudden trance, Jake realized that he must have been playing longer than he had thought because the song was half over. Granted, he was playing a shortened version of Moonlight Sonata meant for beginning players, but he hadn’t anticipated playing so quickly. 

“That was lovely, Jake,” Anya said a few minutes later when Jake finally pulled his hands away from the keys. “You always did like Beethoven when you were small.”

“What can I say?” Jake grinned. “It’s not as bad as the others.” 

“Though I have noticed that you aren’t keeping your hands as high as you should,” Anya wheeled herself over to the piano so that she was sitting next to her son. She took his left hand and adjusted it so that his palm was a bit higher than the keys. “What have I told you about the bubble?”

“We don’t want to pop the bubble,” Jake repeated the words he heard so often as a child.

When she first began teaching him, Anya used the analogy of the bubble to explain proper hand posture. Jake had never felt like keeping his hands higher than the keys and didn’t really have the patience to understand why pianists needed to do it, anyway.

“Imagine that there’s a little bubble inside of your hand that you’re trying to protect while you play,” she would tell him. “If your hand gets too low, the bubble will burst. But if your hands are nice and high, then the bubble will be safe.”

He thought it was a silly analogy now, but Jake had taken great care not to pop the bubble when he was younger, though he’d clearly been remiss of this in recent years.

“And if you keep your hands higher, you can move them across the keyboard that much easier,” Anya demonstrated by playing a few scales. “See?”

“Yep,” Jake nodded. 

“When I come home, I’ll be able to teach you some new songs,” Anya said, still playing scales on the piano. 

“Sure, Mom,” Jake said, though both of them knew that it was a reality that simply wasn’t possible for them.

-

“Jake, are you even listening to me?”

Clearly he’d been thinking a bit too long. The sight of the piano brought back all sorts of memories of his childhood, memories that he thought he’d suppressed a long time ago.

But that felt like another lifetime. He’d been through so much since then and now here he was trapped in some fancy building with Sherry in China and neither of them had a clue as to where they were meant to be going. They’d already wiped out all of the enemies in the room and he’d been thinking about what to do next when he saw the piano in the corner of the room.

He felt something on his shoulder and looked over to find Sherry standing next to him, her eyes filled with a bit of annoyance and confusion as to why he wasn’t answering her.

“Oh, so now you notice me,” Sherry rolled her eyes, but he could tell that she was a bit relieved to know that he wasn’t ignoring her on purpose. “What in the world are you even thinking about?”

“The piano,” Jake said simply, leaning over a bit and putting his hands on the keys. 

“The piano,” Sherry repeated. “Jake, we don’t really have a lot of time right now.”

“I know,” Jake said, though he still sounded a bit far-off in his voice. 

“Wait, can you actually play?” Sherry hadn’t even considered the possibility.

He answered her by playing a portion of Mozart’s Lacrimosa, something that he hadn’t played since the day of his mother’s funeral, something he swore that he’d never play again. It felt a bit awkward for him to play after not touching a keyboard for so many years, but after a few minutes, his fingers remembered what it felt like to play and it began to feel more natural.

“You’re just full of surprises,” Sherry was watching him play. “You never struck me as the type who’d play an instrument. Why’d you stop?”

“Because my mother died,” Jake said, realizing that he probably sounded far more dramatic than he meant to be.

And as much as he tried to forget, he knew he’d always remember playing that last time. The way the sky kept growing darker and darker as the possibility of a thunderstorm loomed overhead, the way Anya’s family kept giving him this pitiful look that made him want to scream. He never thought that he’d be at his mother’s funeral, much less playing on a portable keyboard while her coffin was slowly lowered into the ground, never to be seen again.

“I played this at her funeral and I haven’t played since,” Jake broke the sudden silence that filled the room.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sherry hadn’t been expecting such a response and was at a loss for words.

“Let’s just keep moving. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover if we want to get out of this place,” Jake turned away from the piano, knowing that he’d have to work a bit harder to live with those memories.


End file.
